


Unseen

by vocativecomma



Category: Original Work
Genre: Blind Character, Female Friendship, Gen, flashfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-18
Updated: 2012-06-18
Packaged: 2017-11-08 00:36:25
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 561
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/437159
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vocativecomma/pseuds/vocativecomma
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>On her way to the opening of Laura’s senior art show, Amelia realizes that invisibility must be an undocumented side effect of blindness.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Unseen

On her way to the opening of Laura’s senior art show, Amelia realizes that invisibility must be an undocumented side effect of blindness. She tries to focus on her footsteps, on the familiar press of Laura’s denim-clad wrist under her fingertips, but not even the thread of her own breath is enough to ground her. 

“I can’t believe you don’t know how to say the months of the year in order,” Katie says. She is walking with Di a few yards ahead of Amelia and Laura. “Didn’t you learn that in like, kindergarten?” 

“I like, really didn’t,” Di says. Her doll’s laugh is striking against the pale hush of early evening.

Amelia inhales, preparing to mock Di for this egregious gap in her knowledge, but the risk that she will neither be heard nor seen is far too great.

Once inside the gallery, Amelia is given a glass of wine and immediately insinuates herself into nearby conversations. A half hour passes. By that time, everyone has wandered off to look at some other paintings.

“Hi,” Di says, as if it has been five minutes, not five days, since they had last spoken. 

“Hi, yourself,” Amelia says. “Where have you been? I feel like I haven’t seen you in ages. I was beginning to think you were avoiding me or something.”

Di perches herself on the arm of the couch. “I just got back. Didn’t I tell you I was going to Paris?”

“You probably did. I guess it must have slipped my mind. How was France, or should I not even bother to ask?”

“You know. The usual torture. But somehow I managed to prevail in the end.”

“I’m glad,” Amelia says. She’s not sure whether she likes the heat that is beginning to prick at her cheeks.

Di doesn’t appear to notice. “Did Laura tell you that her advisor completely forgot about tonight? He is such a tool.”

“Your mom is such a tool.” 

“Your face is such a tool,” Amelia snaps back. She brings her wineglass to her lips, only to remember that it is, in fact, empty. 

Di does not offer to refill it. Instead she asks, “A propos of nothing, are you done with that paper for Stratford, or were you too busy reading Harry Potter porn?” 

“Finished it last night, actually. And it’s fanfiction, not porn.”

“Sure. Whatever you say,” Di says.

By mutual agreement, they decide that it would be wise to leave, before the chatter has another chance to reclaim them. 

It is a little after seven, the dead zone between the end of dinner and the beginning of Friday night festivities, so Di invites Amelia to her closet of a single on the third floor of their building. Amelia stretches out on DI’s rug. Dar Williams’ Iowa is playing. She stops herself from reminiscing about how she used to sing that song at summer camp. There is no room for inanity in this place. 

At some point, they each lie down. Amelia shifts slightly—something small and sharp is intruding into her comfort--but the other girl is closer to her than she realizes, for her head is now pillowed by Di’s arm.

“Is this okay? Am I hurting you?” she asks.

 

“You’re not hurting me,” Di says. The strangeness between them has chased her sarcasm away, and all the laughter is gone.


End file.
